Secret Snowflake: Resurrection
by tilleygirl
Summary: Written for the Secret Snowflake gift exchange on LiveJournal.  Receipient is Siapom.  Mary and Marshall are derailed in a small Colorado town over Easter.  Hope blooms, renewal is experienced, rebirth is possible.  Warnings for language and innuendo.


Title: Resurrection

Author: Tilley_Girl

Written/Drawn/Created For: Siapom

Pairings/Characters: Mary/Marshall

Rating: PG-13

Prompt/Summary/Spoilers/Warnings: Prompt #2 Mary/Marshall- a holiday on the road. Mary and Marshall are derailed in a small Colorado town over Easter. Hope blooms, renewal is experienced, rebirth is possible. Warnings for language and innuendo.

Mary leaned back against the hood of the piece of shit Chevy parked in front of the dilapidated service station. Her arms crossed on her chest, the sour expression she projected deepened as she watched Marshall's body language. This did not bode well. Stuck in the middle of fuck-a-nowhere Colorado. She rubbed her forehead as she felt the start of a headache coming on. Marshall's grim expression as he walked toward her didn't help.

"The part that is needed isn't in stock. It can't be ordered until Monday, so best case scenario is Tuesday for getting out of here." Marshall cast a baleful look at his beloved GMC. He didn't understand how it could let him down like this.

"And just where, exactly, is 'here'," Mary asked, casting a pointed look around the main street that consisted of the service station, a tiny diner, a feed store, a miniscule post office, a five and dime and a small church. She turned her glare back on him.

"**Here,** is fifty miles from the nearest actual town," he said. "Mr. Gales in there said we wouldn't make it that far without totally breaking down. Mary, it's 4:30 on a Saturday. The Saturday before Easter. We're lucky he is even open."

"You call this lucky?" Mary pushed off the Chevy in disgust. "What the hell are we supposed to do? Sleep in the truck?" She was pulling out her phone, the brisk wind lifting her hair. Marshall closed his hand over her hers to stop her.

"Don't," he said in a low warning voice. "Stan has plans this weekend with his family from out east. We are not going to ruin this for him."

Mary hesitated. Marshall was right. Stan would drop everything to come and get them if they called him. She thought furiously. Charlie was out of town. Brandi was still in Miami. Jinx had her license suspended. Seriously needed to invest in some more friends. Mary worried her lower lip as she thought, watching an apparent Easter egg hunt in progress at the little church across the street. The squeals of discovery carried clearly, bringing unwelcome memories of her own joyless Easter celebrations. She pushed them down and looked up at Marshall, giving a reluctant nod of agreement.

"Mr. Gales said there is a farmhouse about two miles out of town that acts as a bed and breakfast on occasion. He has called ahead for us and will give us a ride when he closes up shop."

Mary nodded glumly, mesmerized by the young children happily running around the grounds of the little church, laden baskets swinging in their hands.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Mary grabbed her go bag from the bed of Mr. Gales pickup and joined Marshall as he trudged up the front walk of the farmhouse, neatly trimmed with pansies. An elderly woman with her gray hair wrapped in a tight bun on the top of her head came to the door, holding it open with a smile.

"Gus." She nodded to their chauffeur.

"These are the two stranded folks I told you about Ethel." He put the truck in gear and called out to Mary and Marshall. "Ethel will take good care of you." Mary watched with a baleful eye as the beat up pickup trailed a cloud a dust behind it down the gravel road.

"You young people look beat. Come on in and have a seat." Ethel got them settled in the living room and disappeared back into the kitchen. Marshall looked around the small front room; the old, sturdily built furniture, the walls filled with family photos, the knick-knacks on the mantel and the coffee table. It was like being transported into his Nana Mann's sitting room. The ticking of the old clock on the mantle was loud in the silence of the room. Ethel reappeared with a tray and set glasses of lemonade down in front of each of her guests.

Mary stared at the pale yellow liquid in her tall glass, the ice cubes dancing around each other in a slow rhythm. Late afternoon sun streamed into the room, highlighting the sparkling surface of the coffee table. She turned to see Marshall studying the photos on the wall across from them. She graced them with a few seconds of her attention and then sank back into her seat, exhaustion catching up with her.

Ethel sat down heavily on the rocking chair across from them. Her bright blue eyes took in her two guests, not missing a beat as Marshall silently added two teaspoons of sugar to Mary's glass and Mary favored him with a small, tired smile. They silently sipped on their drinks, as Ethel chatted about the little town. Mary tuned back in as Ethel extended an invitation to join her at Easter services in the morning.

Mary opened her mouth, but Marshall smoothly interceded and politely thanked Ethel for the invite, asking what time the service started and indicating they would let her know in the morning. Rising to his feet, he slipped a light hand under his partner's elbow and drew her up. Turning to Ethel, he smiled and indicated they would like to go to their room. Their hostess showed them up the steep staircase and down a hallway.

The room was small, but light and airy and very clean. It was dominated by a four poster bed covered by a handmade quilt. Light blue sheer curtains covered the east and south facing windows, billowing slightly in the early spring breeze. A heavy oak dresser lined one side of the room, an old fashioned armoir another wall. Mary dropped her bag on the floor and turned to face Marshall.

"Not even a TV," she said accusingly, pinning him with a glare. Marshall smiled and reached into his bag, withdrawing two books.

"Boy Scout motto...be prepared."

The glare turned thunderous. "Helping little old ladies across the street and starting campfires from two sticks and a prayer? What does that prepare you for?" The light chuckle irritated her.

"I was an Eagle Scout. And I'm prepared for...other types of entertainment, if you're so inclined." Mary's eyes flew up to meet his at the smoky tone. His eyes were far too dark and Mary felt her chest tightening. She couldn't breathe with his gaze on her like that. She felt like a particularly delectable morsel of food and Marshall was a hungry diner. Very hungry.

Shivering slightly, she narrowed her eyes and snagged one of the books from him, stepping back quickly to put some distance between them.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Marshall sat down in the room's lone rocking chair, crossed his pajama clad legs and opened up his book at the page he had marked. He settled into the deep plush seat of the rocker and ventured a quick glance at Mary. He had told her to go ahead and go to sleep, that he was going to stay up and read awhile. She had shrugged and crawled under the covers, but Marshall didn't miss the look of relief that had skated across her face. They were both looking to avoid the awkwardness of getting into bed together. Neither of them had mentioned the single bed, the fact they would be sharing it. No offers to sleep on the floor had been extended or suggested. Acceptance on both sides.

Marshall read until he heard Mary's breathing deepen. The history of the Panama Canal really couldn't hold a candle to the chance to watch Mary unobserved. She was burrowed under the covers, her blonde hair held back in a loose ponytail fastened at the nape of her neck. He felt a thrill of deep pleasure as he took in her face relaxed in sleep; smooth skin, full lips the color of berries, high cheekbones, aquiline nose. Gently placing his book down on top of his bag, he stood up and stretched, moving over to flip off the lamp that stood on the small nightstand. He moved over to the bed, his way lit by faint moonlight. Gingerly pulling the covers back and slipping into the bed, Marshall eased his body down with as little shifting to the mattress as possible.

He held his body rigid as he listened for any change in her breathing. Relaxing, Marshall sighed and settled into the yielding surface, a waft of lavender hitting his nostrils as Mary turned her head. He was asleep within minutes.

Mary woke with a racing heart, the strange surroundings causing a moment's panic before she remembered the witness transfer, the broken down truck, the non-existent town, the shared room with Marshall. She sensed him next to her, oddly unwilling to turn her head and look at him. Listening carefully, his even breathing told her he was sleeping soundly. Odd, she hadn't even woken when he got into bed. She relaxed slightly, feeling an strange mixture of sadness and irritation. Her dreams had been filled with taunting Easter bunnies that had no basket for her, Easter eggs that refused to show themselves as she hunted for them and Easter Mass that left her feeling sad instead of joyful.

To her consternation she felt tears welling. Holidays were the worst. The constant reminders of the past, the things she wasn't able to experience that every child should. The disappointments. The struggle to make the day enjoyable for Brandi. The inevitable drunken rages or depressions of Jinx.

She had never had an Easter basket after her father left. She had never had an Easter dress. She had dutifully taken Brandi to Mass, while Jinx never attended. Jinx made sure the two girls went though. Every week, not just for C&E. Even enrolled them in Catholic school when the funds were available. Mary wondered about her mother's tenuous ties to the faith. Maybe Jinx was just hoping something would stick and her girls would have a better outcome then she had. Watching the kids hunt Easter eggs today had been far more painful to her than it should have been. Another jab in the heart for a lost childhood.

Mary turned on her side, as she tried to keep her shaking body still. She was used to spending holidays alone, used to allowing the waves of melancholia to roll over her and sweep back out, taking the top layer of her heart with them, leaving it exposed and vulnerable. She allowed herself a good cry on the more painful holidays and her body was demanding its expected release. And this one, this holiday that symbolized rebirth and renewal, that spoke of promises and second chances, that was the most joyful in the church calendar. This one was almost worse than Christmas. As her shoulders quivered, she felt Marshall's gentle hand on her waist, resting lightly, letting her know he was there.

Mary stiffened at his touch, but the warmth of his palm stayed palpable through the thin cotton of her shirt. _This is only Marshall. He already knows how screwed up I am_. Mary stopped trying to fight against the sobs that demanded to be heard and curled her back against Marshall's chest, allowing her tears to be released and his arms to close around her. She cried until the well ran dry. Marshall remained silent, his hands clasped loosely around her waist.

His heart was breaking for her. So much pain to be drudged up over and over. Marshall knew she didn't want pity from him, didn't want comfort either, but was so thirsty for it she allowed his embrace. He wanted to talk to her but knew this wasn't the time. He'd be lucky if she remained in the bed with him. He felt her hand on top of his and tensed, expecting her to push his hands away. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around his clasped ones and settled. Eventually he heard her hitching breaths lengthen and realized she had fallen asleep again. He smiled as he kissed the top of her head, a few soft stands clinging to his lips.

"I'm so sorry baby." The softly murmured words were barely a whisper, the endearment slipping out unfiltered by his agitated brain. His arms tightened around her waist and he tucked his chin in the dip between her neck and shoulder.

Marshall woke shortly before daybreak, realizing with a pang that Mary had pulled away from him. She still had one hand on his chest though. Keeping a connection even as she withdrew. Marshall stretched and waited patiently for her to wake up. She had turned onto her stomach and as one eye opened to take in her unfamiliar surroundings, she was greeted with Marshall's goofy grin and sky blue eyes. Her fingers closed involuntarily into a fist, catching up a handful of his t-shirt and her eyes closed in humiliation. She had cried in his arms last night. _Oh God._

"Don't." It was a softly whispered command. The eye popped open again. _Don't self-flagellate. Don't berate yourself. Don't be embarrassed. Don't reject me._ Mary read all of this in Marshall's anxious eyes.

With an effort, she relaxed her hand, smoothing out the crumpled fabric of his shirt, skimming lightly over his pectoral muscles.

"You have a nice chest," she mumbled, thinking of the solid feel of it against her back. She'd felt safe, protected. She'd felt lo...no, her mind skittered away from the very word.

Marshall smiled as he smoothed down her hair that had escaped from its band. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"So do you." He was chuckling as he dodged the arm swinging his way and jumped out of bed, grabbing his bag and making an escape down the hall to the bathroom.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Marshall sat in the plain wooden chair in Ethel's well scrubbed kitchen. He enjoyed talking with the older woman. She reminded him of his Nana. Sturdy arms vigorously punched down the rising bread in it's ceramic bowl. Pancakes were on the griddle and blueberry muffins had just been taken out of the oven. He grinned. Mary better get down here soon or he'd eat her share and take the consequences.

Ethel washed her hands and started to cut up fruit, pausing to flip the pancakes.

"How long have you been married?" The question was casual. He winced. Of course she thought they were married.

"We've been together for seven years," he replied, feeling slightly guilty about the deception. This was just the easier route.

"Any children?" Ethel was pulling down plates from the cupboard.

"No." Best to keep it simple. He thought fleetingly of a sixth generation Mann marshal and a small sigh escaped him.

"Don't worry. There will be." The elderly woman turned around to look at him. "It's so nice to see a young man so in love with his wife. I can see it in the way you look at her." Her bird like eyes pierced him. Ah to be young again she thought.

He smiled weakly. "I am in love with her," he responded in a low voice, "very much so."

Mary stood frozen outside the kitchen door. The truth in his words rang out. He loved her. Her partner had just told a total stranger that he loved her. She fought down the urge to run. This was not completely new information to her. But he had never actually said the words before. Or acknowledged the words.

Pushing the door open, Mary took a deep breath and stepped brightly into the kitchen, smiling at Ethel and then turning to Marshall, gracing him with one of her genuine smiles as she saw he was making origami cranes out of the napkins. Sitting down next to her partner, Mary looked up in surprise as Marshall placed a basket in front of her.

"Happy Easter Mary." She blushed in pleasure under his intense gaze and investigated the basket. Filled with chocolates, a notepad, colored pens, hairbands, a small bottle of aspirin, airline style booze bottles, a Marshal's Service mug, a delicate origami dove. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He knew her so well. And he had to have brought this with him, planning on giving it to her when they returned to Albuquerque.

"Thank you Marshall," she said softly, covering his hand with hers. Ethel came to the table with a large plate of flapjacks and a jug of orange juice. Returning to the counter to pick up the bowl of fruit, she glanced back at her two young guests, smiling as she saw them lost in each others eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Easter service started with a rousing rendition of 'Jesus Christ is Risen Today', continued through the familiar Gospel readings and the sermon and ended with more singing led by the childrens choir. Marshall ventured a side glance at Mary. She looked beautiful in her borrowed dress. It suited her somehow.

_She had tried to beg off attending church by saying she couldn't go to Easter service in her jeans. Ethel had taken her by the hand and led her upstairs to one of the closed off bedrooms. It was a positive shrine to another era, one before modern conveniences. Opening the closet door, a whiff of cedar was released as she rifled through the plastic enclosed garments hanging on the wooden rod and pulled out a green dress. It was not only old-fashioned, it was old. Hand-sewn, simple._

_Mary thought with another pang of pain, that it was similar to old photos she had seen of her grandmother as a young woman. _

"_I wore this when I was young" she commented, smoothing down the skirt of the dress tenderly. "I was wearing this dress when my Marshall proposed to me." Mary's head jerked up and she sharpened her gaze on the old woman._

"_Your husband's name was Marshall?" The query sounded strangled, even to her own ears._

_Ethel nodded as she removed the dress from it's plastic enclosure. Holding it up against Mary, she eyeballed it and nodded. It would do._

"_Yes. Marshall always loved me in this dress. Your Marshall will love you in it too." The bright eyes caught Mary's and she smiled._

Marshall took in all the brightly colored dresses around him, the white hats, the sharp suits, but his eyes returned to Mary. The simple cotton dress with its white scoop collar and white buttons running down the bodice brought out the green in her eyes. It hung well below her knees, but nipped in at the waist to emphasize her hips and had darts at the bust line drawing attention to her full curves. Ethel had even provided a white hat for her to wear, which Mary had accepted with very poor grace, prodded by firm pressure on her hand and a warning look from her partner. The kelly green ribbon around the bonnet provided a nice accent Marshall thought.

They accompanied Ethel out of the church, excited children weaving in and out around them as Ethel stopped to chat with various church members. A cool breeze made Mary grateful for the cardigan Ethel had lent her. It was an old lady sweater, but it was warm. She slipped it on over her shoulders. Marshall looked very dapper in one of Ethel's husbands pinstripe suits. The pant legs were only slightly short and Mary found herself rather admiring the fit of the suit vest he wore, complete with fob watch. He had been almost giddy when he discovered the watch in the pocket of the jacket.

Ethel gestured to them she was ready to leave and Marshall casually reached out to take Mary's hand. She allowed it, aware of Ethel's gaze on them. Once they arrived back at the farmhouse, Ethel placed her bag, gloves and hat on the kitchen table and turned to her two guests.

"Are you sure you won't come with me to my granddaughter's?" The question was anxious. She didn't want to leave them to their own devices on Easter Sunday.

"We'll be fine Ethel," Marshall replied, glancing at Mary, "you've been more than kind. Go and enjoy yourself."

Ethel smiled as she heard the front door open and lowering her voice as she picked up her things, murmured, "Well, you can enjoy yourselves too. Maybe start on that baby." She winked at Mary's startled expression and went through into the living room.

Mary turned a thunderous look onto Marshall who shrugged innocently. "She assumed we're married and asked about kids. When I told her we didn't have any she said not to worry, that we would." His wide eyed look shifted subtly and became more speculative as he leisurely ran his gaze up and down her, finally meeting her eyes with an expression of frank male appreciation.

"We could start practicing on that baby." His low chuckle took some of the danger out of those smoky tones he used to utter words that terrified her.

"If you ever want to use that particular piece of equipment again, you'll be keeping your hands, and everything else, to yourself," she replied tartly, turning away so he wouldn't see the color coming into her cheeks. "I'm going to get changed."

"Need any help?" The question floated after her as she slammed the kitchen door behind her.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

After eating the excellently prepared lunch that Ethel had left for them, Marshall suggested a walk as he peered out the window while washing dishes. The sun was out and while a bit on the cool side, it was a nice day. He could see there were some woods out behind the pasture. He had asked some pointed questions about what kind of livestock could be found on the property and had been told it was no longer a working farm. They would be perfectly safe wandering about.

Mary debated between sitting around the house with no visible means of entertainment and Marshall's earlier suggestion flooding her mind with images, or wandering the back forty with her partner. Sighing, she agreed to the walk and retrieved her jacket. They ambled out the back door from the kitchen and headed towards the pasture. The early spring sunlight and fresh clean air perked up Mary's mood. She looked around her with interest. They skirted a large tilled plot that would obviously be Ethel's vegetable garden. It was edged with iris's that were just beginning to bloom.

Passing through a latched gate at the back of the fenced yard, they followed a faint dirt path through the pasture that led them down to a shallow creek that meandered in front of the woods. Marshall clasped Mary's hand in his as he pointed out a wooden bridge that crossed the happy little brook. She halted at the edge of the creek and looked with suspicion at the wobbly structure.

"Looks like that bridge is older than I am," she muttered, looking accusingly at Marshall. He squeezed her hand encouragingly as he put one boot clad foot on the little bridge and tested it.

"It's fine Mary. I promise if it gives way, I will cushion your fall." His eyebrows waggled. "With my body." Mary had the uncomfortable feeling he was almost hoping for that outcome. She gingerly stepped on the bridge behind him and followed his surefooted steps across the rickety planks. Stepping clear with a sigh of relief, she paused to look around her. The pine trees in front of her gave off a fresh clean scent, the creek burbled in her ears, some unidentified wildflowers were starting to push through the damp earth, her partner was grinning down at her. Pointing at the flowers he murmured, 'Jack-in-the-pulpits', and started off into the woods.

They meandered aimlessly, an easy silence between them. Arriving at a small clearing, bright with flowers, Marshall halted and turning to Mary, gestured to the ground.

"Ready for a rest?" He was already slinging off his rucksack and pulling out a blanket, which he spread on the ground. Plopping down, he stretched his legs out, pulled two water bottles out and held up his hand for Mary to take. She hesitated and he reached into the backpack again and pulled out a chocolate bunny. He jiggled it in front of her.

"Care to join me now?" The goofy grin spread across his face as he felt her resolve melting in the face of his bribe and she took his hand and allowed him to pull her down next to him.

They savored the chocolate and talked of sundry things. The air was filled with the light buzzing of insects and calls of birds. Marshall stilled and pointed behind Mary, his face rapt. She swiveled her head around and let out a soft gasp as she saw the light brown doe standing only a few yards away, eying them uncertainly. In a blur of motion, the doe bounded away. Mary turned to find Marshall's intense gaze on her. He traced her jaw with a gentle finger.

"Why were you crying last night?" His blue eyes held hers, not allowing her to look away, his finger under her chin now, keeping her eyes on him.

Mary felt a moment of panic, felt her defenses go up, felt the urge to run. She closed her eyes. This was Marshall. He knew how screwed up she was. And he stayed anyway. She drew in a deep breath.

"Kind of a holiday tradition. Crying for my lost childhood. Crying because I never got a rebirth. Crying because my soul never got resurrected." The finger under her chin moved up her cheek, caressing in light strokes.

"I'm sorry Sunshine." She opened her eyes,

"I'm not anybody's sunshine. More like storm clouds." The bitterness in her voice stabbed at his heart.

"You're my sunshine." The caressing finger moved to her lips. "You brighten my world." He rested his forehead against hers. Breathing came into synch as exhaled breath became inhaled breath. Mary brought trembling hands up to cup his face and pressed a hesitant kiss to his lips. The briefest of pauses and Marshall kissed back, fitting his mouth to hers, warm lips moving over hers, discovering the shape, the feel, the taste of her berry lips.

He pulled back and searched her face. A shy smile played about her mouth. "Do you think I could keep on being your sunshine?" Marshall grinned and slinging an arm around her shoulder, drew her down next to him. They laid on their backs, searching the sky for interesting shaped clouds, watching as flocks of birds soared past high above them, tracked the vapor trail of a jet bound for an unknown destination.

The sun warmed her body, Marshall's presence warmed her soul, the sounds of nature calmed her spirit. Mary found herself growing drowsy. As her own personal walking wikipedia started an expository speech about the migration habits of birds, Mary tuned out the words and focused on the voice. Shifting her head from his shoulder to his chest, she felt the vibrations as he spoke, the deep timbre conveying a sense of security and acceptance she hadn't realized she'd associated with his voice.

Marshall stumbled in his discourse for a fleeting second as Mary moved and resettled on his chest. He smiled as her expression gave her away. He knew she was no longer listening to his words, but she was listening to his voice. So he continued talking until he realized she had fallen asleep. Laying his hand lightly on her belly, slender fingers spreading to cup the almost imperceptible swelling of her abdomen, he thought that maybe, just maybe, there would be hope for a sixth generation of Mann marshals after all.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Marshall climbed the steep stairs after saying good-night to Ethel. Mary had already gone up. He reviewed their day in his head and pronounced it a good one. After Mary had woken up ( and truthfully, he had taken a little nap himself), they had returned to the farmhouse. Ethel was back and smiled broadly at them as she took in the various twigs and leaves that still stuck to their clothes and in their hair. Marshall was content to let her think what she wanted. Mary was oblivious.

He had described to her the little clearing they had found and her grin turned mischievous.

"I know exactly where you mean. That's where my Hannah was conceived." Marshall had blushed, Mary had gaped and Ethel had laughed.

Spying the light filtering under the door from their room, he hesitated. Something had changed between them. It was subtle, but it was important. He didn't want Mary to deny that change. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he quietly turned it and opened the door. Mary was standing in front of the mirror mounted on the dresser, pulling her blue cotton pajama top down over her torso. Marshall caught a quick glimpse of the scar on her back that was her souvenir from her gunshot wound. The sight of the small circle of pale skin caused his gut to clench, a frisson of fear running down his spine. A flash of her still body being wheeled down the hospital corridor seared his eyes.

Mary turned, startled, and Marshall firmly closed the door and crossed over to her. He didn't know what was driving him, but he needed to see. Needed to touch. Spanning her waist with one hand, he held her still, blue eyes boring into green, while lifting the top with his other hand. He stared at the round circular scar on her back. Harsh breathing filled the room.

"Marshall what the hell are you doing?" Her voice was shaky. She did not want anybody seeing her scars, especially Marshall. His fingers came up to gently travel over the puckered flesh.

"Marshall, don't." A pleading quality had entered her voice. Embarrassment, shame, anger, disgust. They all swirled around in her chest. This was private and she didn't want to share. Didn't want him to see the evidence of her failure, of her weakness. Didn't want him to see the ugliness,

"I have to." His voice was curt. "I almost lost you." This was a visceral need he felt. A part of her she had kept from him and he needed to see, to fully understand. He turned her and gathered the front of her pajama top in his fingers, staring at the larger scar on her belly. The incision scar from surgery. The flesh was still pink and slightly raised. He drew his finger over it and again and again, as if he could draw the ugliness of it, the horror of it into his own body. Caressing until he felt a drop on his hand. He looked up and saw tears streaming down her face.

"I don't want anybody to see me." Marshall heard his heart crack. He placed one palm over her belly and one palm over her back, covering both injuries with his warmth, with his touch. Dropping down on his knees in front of her and holding her by the waist, he brought his lips down to her scar, kissing it from one end to the other. Warm lips moved over smooth skin, hesitating only slightly at the change in texture. His tongue flicked over the raised flesh, the quiver in Mary's abdominal muscles transmitted to him, amplified.

"You need to own this Mary. Make it part of you. It IS part of you. This says something about who you are. That you are a person who will do what it takes to protect your witness, that you are not afraid, that you have a will to survive. It says that you don't give up. This is part of what defines you, that you are a U.S. Marshal."

His lips on her skin was making it hard for her to concentrate. Moist breath warmed her skin, at the same time causing goose pimples. Heat from the stubble on his cheek scraping across the tender skin of her belly had moisture pooling in her nether regions. Some of his words penetrated the fog of swirling feelings enveloping her and she looked down at him. With a shaky hand, she pulled aside the neck of his t-shirt on the right side, uncovering his own circular scar. Trembling fingers traced over it. The color had faded from angry red back to a flesh tone.

"Do you think of this as a part of you?" Her finger caressed, soothed. She looked down at him, wondering if his knees hurt from pressing into the wooden floor. Blue eyes looked up at her, his cheek against her stomach, large palms firmly placed around her waist, his position on his knees supplicating, subservient, oddly arousing.

His dark head nodded an affirmative and he grasped her hand. "It is part of me, it helps define me."

"Does my failure define you too?" Marshall's expression turned dark. He stood up, towering over her. Hands shaking with anger grasped her shoulders and backed her against the dresser. Crossing his arms, he reached down to grasp the hem of his t-shirt and deftly pulled it over his head. Mary's eyes widened as she took in his bare chest, the light covering of dark hair, the defined muscles. The scar. Marshall lifted her nerveless hand and pressed it against his clavicle, hard.

"This," he ground out, pressing more firmly, "is not your failure." His eyes held hers. "Not any more than this," he pressed his other hand to her belly, "is mine." Mary felt herself held immobile, as if his gaze was a tractor beam, drawing her in. Intensity, anger, determination, desire. His emotions held her feet rooted to the floor. She couldn't have broken free if she tried. His palm was warm on her tummy. His skin was cool under her fingers. Physical awareness was pouring over her like sheets of rain. The deep, deep blue of his eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils, the compression of his lips, the shadow of his beard, the long tendons of his neck, the muscles of his shoulders and chest, the press of his hips. She swallowed hard and nodded.

"I know," she whispered. She shifted towards him slightly and gingerly put her arms around his torso. His muscles were taut, quivering, anger tightly leashed in. As her head floated down to rest on his shoulder, Marshall began to relax.

"You've been grieving your loss of childhood, your lack of Easter joy. This is it I think." His fingers circled around the puckered skin on her back. "This is your resurrection, your rebirth, your second chance. You survived, I survived. We're together. We can build something together." He fell silent, concentrating on the easy fall and rise of her chest against his. She was still in his arms. That was something at least.

Mary let his words wash over her. She felt wobbly, the realization of what he was saying triggering an impulse to run. She pushed the impulse down.

"You mean build a life together?"

Marshall closed his eyes. Finally. Finally she was getting it.

"We already have a life together Mary. As partners, as friends. But we can have more. We can be a family." He brought a shaky hand up and pressed against her belly, lower down this time. His palm rested there, heavy with promise. "We can have a family of our own." His thumb traveled over her scar, the raised flesh her statement of survival. "From tragedy, joy can come." His fingers splayed against the taut skin, covering her abdomen, his little finger slipping under the elastic of her lingerie, sending trails of awareness south.

"You want to be a family with me?" She watched his face, wariness battling with hope inside her.

He looked down into her conflicted face, surprised by her turmoil. "We pledged to each other a long time ago Mary, each in our own way. I want to make that pledge in public now."

Mary nodded and allowed a genuine smile to grace her lips. "Me too." She wrapped her arms tightly around him, as if afraid he may change his mind and flee.

"Plus I want to keep waking up next to you each morning." Mary pinched his ass and grinned at the rumble of his chuckle under her cheek.

"Jesus may not be the only thing being raised up today", she muttered, as Marshall's chuckle turned into full blown laughter. His hand smoothed down her back and cupped her bottom, pulling her up against him as his hips flexed suggestively against her. She looked up at him, his amazing blue eyes steady on her, full of promise for renewal, for redemption. Smiling, Mary reached up to seal his promise with a kiss.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Joyous Festivus! Whatever you may celebrate Siapom, I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
